


Lifeguard

by OnstageSport



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Gen, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Suicide Attempt, very very subtly though like blink and you'd miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 15:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnstageSport/pseuds/OnstageSport
Summary: "Wait...yousavedme?" he asked for clarification. "You didn't do none of that kissing stuff did you?""Well, did youwantto die?" Spot scoffed. His demeanor sobered up and he looked directly at Race. "Did you want to die?"





	Lifeguard

The world came screaming back to life. The muffled sounds of the city assaulted his ears. Blurry, blended colors surrounded him when he opened his stinging eyes. The only thing he could smell was the East River, but that was because he was right next to it. 

Race tried to rub his eyes enough to fix his blurry vision, blaming the salt water entirely. Maybe Specs and Blink could coach him on how to get through life with less than perfect vision because he was pretty sure his eyes were now permanently damaged.

“I almost died,” he spluttered, coughing up water. He sat up and looked around, squinting. The water-logged figure beside him slowly came into focus as he blinked at it. “Spot? Why are you all wet?”

His voice was hoarser than usual thanks to the abundance of swallowed salt water, but he didn’t mind. It didn’t hurt that bad.

“Why do you think, dumbass?” Spot asked, wringing out the fabric of his shirt. “Can’t let no one die on my turf.”

“Your…On your surf,” Race laughed, which only resulted in him coughing up more water and Spot hitting him in the stomach with his still-soaking hat.

“Shoulda let you drown,” he muttered. 

With that, Spot pushed himself to his feet. Race stared up at him incredulously, squinting into the sunlight.

“Wait, you… _saved_ me?” he asked for clarification. 

He cautiously rose, swaying slightly. Spot grabbed him under his arms to keep him steady, making a big show of how much of a _burden_ it was to support his weight.

“You didn’t do none of that kissing stuff, did you?” Race accused suddenly, pulling back from Spot with narrowed eyes. The jerky motion set him off-kilter but he denied Spot’s support this time, catching himself before he fell to the bank.

“Well, did you _want_ to die?” Spot scoffed. Race wiped his mouth melodramatically, but Spot didn’t seem to be finding the humor in it. Instead, his demeanor sobered up and he looked directly at Race. “Did you want to die?” Racetrack didn’t answer. Spot hit his stomach again. “Answer me, Higgins.”

“No, I didn’t wanna die,” Race spat out defensively without looking at Spot.

“Then what the hell were you doing, drowning yourself out there?” Spot demanded. There was an unprecedented fire in his voice. “Was it some dumbass bet? Or was it a dumbass dare?”

When Race didn’t answer, Spot started pushing him by his shoulders, goading him into giving any sort of response.

Finally, an answer burst out of Race. “My father’s out of jail.”

As quickly as the world came to life, everything stopped. Race could only hear his blood rushing in his ears, could only see Spot a few feet in front of him, he thought he could smell whiskey but he knew that was stupid.

“Higgins?” The way Spot said it made it seem like he’d been trying to get Race’s attention for a while now. Could’ve been seconds, maybe a minute or two. “Higgins, I-”

“Don’t call me that,” Race snarled, shaking his head. His eyes stung a bit and his throat felt tight, but he would just blame both of those symptoms on the salt water because he was _not_ about to cry, especially not in front of Spot Conlon.

“Racer,” Spot amended. Race peered at him curiously. Few people used that nickname of his nickname; he didn’t even know Spot knew about it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Race frowned and squinted at Spot. That was all he had to say? He had just plucked Race’s unconscious body from the river and resuscitated him and all he had to say was ‘I’m sorry to hear that?’

“Yeah, me too,” Race nodded slowly, suspiciously. He started to make his way up the shoreline to civilization.

“You know the best way to get back at the bastard?” Spot asked suddenly, catching up with him.

“No, what?” Race deadpanned without looking at him. It would be easier to humor Spot than to keep fighting him on it.

“Keep living.”

“I didn’t-” Race started to protest, but Spot cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Keep living and show him that you’re doing just fine _in spite_ of all his shit,” Spot continued. Sure, Race wasn’t doing _fantastic_ , but he wasn’t in jail or even the refuge so at least he was doing better than his father, that was for sure.

Race nodded absently and muttered something about how his dad “had nothing to do with nothing.”

Though Spot doubted that, he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of Race if he kept poking and prodding. Once he dropped the kid off back where he belonged, Jack would make sure he was taken care of.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Spot said, changing the topic. He grabbed Race’s arm and slung it over his shoulders.

“I can walk,” Race huffed, pulling away. He strode ahead pridefully. Once on the road, he turned toward Brooklyn to sell the evening paper. If they left now they should pick up the edition just in time.

“Uh-uh,” Spot chided. “We’re getting your wet ass back to Manhattan.”

When Race didn’t automatically turn in the right direction, Spot physically maneuvered him by grabbing his upper arms and spinning him. Race jerked away.

“You don’t gotta keep touching me!” he snapped. He forged on ahead, leading Spot. After several steps, he whipped around. “And you don’t gotta follow me, I know the way.”

“And if you disappear, Jacky-boy’ll have my head,” Spot shrugged. “Not everything’s about you.”

Race glared at Spot and started off again. He didn’t need anyone to protect him. He never had someone do it before and he got on just fine without them.  
This didn’t dissuade Spot from tagging along, rather uncomfortably in his still-damp clothes, all the way to the lodging house in relative silence. It was only when they made the turn onto Duane Street that he said anything.

“Hey, Race?” Race merely grunted to acknowledge Spot’s persistent presence. “Don’t you ever let me hear of you doing something like that again, okay?” Race nodded noncommittally. “I mean it. If you do something to get yourself hurt again, I’ll kill you.”

“Real flatterer, you are,” Race snipped as they approached the lodging house. “You can leave now. I think I can make it forty feet without disappearing.”

“I got business with Kelly,” Spot brushed his concern aside. “Oh, and obviously if you tell anyone I saved you, I’ve gotta kill you.”

“Obviously,” Race repeated.

They reached the door and Race barreled through, living up to his name, Spot following quickly behind and assuring Kloppman that he was with Racetrack and that he had some business to take care of with Jack Kelly. However, he didn’t apologize for the trail of droplets that fell from his clothes.

They reached the main room and Spot grabbed one boy who was passing by to ask where Jack was.

“Up on the roof, in his penthouse,” he shrugged before carrying on his way.

“Ooh, ‘penthouse,’” Spot mocked under his breath before climbing out the window onto the fire escape. “How fancy.”

He climbed all the way up to the roof, his still-slippery shoes not helping in the slightest when it came to the ladder. After a climb that was harder than it should have been, he saw that Jack was not alone in his penthouse. Crutchie was looking over Jack’s shoulder, watching him sketch something.

“Hey, Kelly,” he greeted with a nod, causing both boys to look up at him.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” Crutchie laughed at the same time that Jack questioned, “What are you doing here?”

“Had to talk to you,” Spot shrugged, stepping onto the roof.

“How’d you know we was up here?” Jack asked, rolling up his sketch.

“Tall kid told me,” Spot nodded. In case of any confusion, he added, “The one with the specs.”

“Ah. Specs,” both of the Manhattan boys nodded.

“You’s a creative bunch over here, ain’t you?” Spot laughed sarcastically.

There was a slight lull, during which Spot eyed Crutchie, rising to his feet, and considered whether or not to let him be a part of this meeting.

“You know, Spot,” Crutchie spoke up, breaking the silence. “When we say we’re gonna soak somebody, we don’t mean take ’em for a swim.”

“Creative and funny,” Spot noted before turning his attention back to Jack. “I gotta talk to you; can we go down a level?”

“Alright, let’s go,” Jack agreed after exchanging a look with Crutchie. If Spot had traveled all this way to talk to him, then he wouldn’t want anybody else in their meeting.

They scaled down the ladder to the landing just below the penthouse.

“What’s wrong, Spot?” Jack asked once they had hit the fire escape.

“He listening?” Spot asked with a jerk of his head up towards Crutchie.

“Nah, and even if he was, he wouldn’t tell anyone,” Jack promised, leaning against the ladder. “So, what’s going on?”

“It’s Higgins.”

Jack held his hands up in mock defense.

“Hey, you two worked out a deal so he could play the ponies, what happens in Brooklyn is between you and him. I got nothing to do with it.”

“His old man’s been released.” Just like Spot’s had, Jack’s demeanor shifted.

“Oh, shit,” Jack breathed. “Is he…Is he okay?”

“Would I be here if he was?” Jack grumbled something Spot couldn’t hear. “Look out for him. But don’t let him know you’re looking out for him, got it?”

Jack knew how to look out for his friends and he didn’t need Spot telling him how to do it, but instead of arguing that point, he just nodded.

“Good,” Spot nodded before starting back down the fire escape. It was a long way back to Brooklyn. Hopefully the next time he came this way, it would be under better circumstances


End file.
